


That one should love, the other win

by LiveOakWithMoss



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Come Eating, Cousin Incest, Cunnilingus, F/M, Idril pulls a Eurydice, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Light Domme Idril, M/M, Maeglin Creeps, Multi, Novel Ways of Dealing with Rejection, Obsession, One-sided Hatesex, Self-Hatred, Threesome - F/M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 04:25:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8272774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: Maeglin is granted access to all that he desires, with some slight modifications. He’ll take what he can get, even though his fantasies never included Idril’s husband.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snartha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snartha/gifts).



> 0\. An abominably belated birthday to my favorite Snail Martha, who deserves all the gifts and has a fondness for this OT3. I have taken some inspiration from your art in this threesome, bud, hope it suits.

 

Maeglin knew these things about himself: That he was talented. That he was clever. That he was good with his hands and the sun made him sneeze.

Maeglin knew these things about Idril: That he would never have her.

He knew, whatever he insisted to the contrary, that she did not love him. He knew that however he pressed, she would always refuse. He knew he did not deserve her acquiescence. It did not stop him from pressing. It did not stop him from longing.

It was the longing that kept him from laughing in her hated husband’s face when Tuor told him that which Maeglin thought impossible might, in fact, be possible.

With conditions.

“What conditions?”

Tuor told him.

Maeglin wondered if it surprised the Man how readily he agreed.

But Tuor’s smile, and Tuor’s hand on his shoulder, seemed to indicate that he was not surprised.

Just pleased.

 

* * *

 

“Blindfold him,” Idril said. “I have enough of his eyes on me every day, I do not wish to endure their weight here as well.”

“Idril,” said Tuor softly. “Is that really – ”

“It is my condition for him being here at all.”

Maeglin nodded, his eyes already on the floor. Idril was pure and lovely and her bare countenance should remain unmarred by lustful eyes; his own unworthy gaze was not fair enough to deserve the sight of her thus. He almost suggested that Tuor be blindfolded too, but he reluctantly conceded that the bonds of marriage granted certain privileges. Being allowed to watch one’s wife during the act of love, to start.

Tuor’s hands were thick-fingered and rough, his cuticles poorly tended. Maeglin instinctively recoiled from them, but they were surprisingly nimble with the cloth. Tuor tied the scarf behind Maeglin’s head and asked him if it was comfortable. Maeglin jerked his head, wishing the Man would stop speaking to him, and Tuor’s fingers brushed gently over Maeglin’s ears. Shivers ran down Maeglin’s arms at the touch, a visceral reaction borne of revulsion and disquietude.

“Now what?” he said, to diffuse the sensation, focusing his attention on the sound of Idril’s quiet breaths.

“Now bind him,” said Idril. “So he cannot touch me.”

Maeglin immediately curled his fingers into his palms.

He had always thought that would only be right.

 

* * *

 

Forced immobility was not new to Maeglin.

Sight removed was hardly new either; his vision was so accustomed to the shadow of the forge and the darkness of Nan Elmoth that he hardly needed light at all. The brilliant light of Gondolin still shocked his eyes, and he often went about with tinted lenses, to deflect it.

(The only time he did not mind the light was when it served to illuminate Idril, and he could gaze at her until she stared back at him and ordered him to stop. The tinted lenses came in handy there, as well – he could claim he was studying the tapestries behind her.)

The blindfold removed the worry of sight altogether, and allowed Maeglin to concentrate instead on other senses. His ears pricked, and sound sketched for him a portrait.

First came the slap and sigh of flesh, painting bodies before him, bound in intimacy. The timbre of Idril’s moans tinted the scene, and Maeglin focused on the lilt of her voice, the lovely way it rose and fell, demanded and encouraged, begged and praised, until he could almost pretend it was for him. The other voice he ignored, though he could not deny that there was a harmony to the way Tuor’s deeper tones complemented and elevated Idril’s.

Maeglin dropped his head, his eyes closed behind the blindfold, and felt liquid drip down his shaft. He breathed deep, smelling his own tang in addition to the sweet musk of Idril and something earthier that could only be Tuor.

He had never been more aroused.

By her presence, he sang in the safety of his own head. Her presence, her power was electric.

 

* * *

 

There was no mistaking Tuor’s climax. He finished with a long, drawn out groan that made Maeglin tremble in his bonds and strain against them, the sound striking a chord in him that he wished to escape.

He felt sure that Idril had not reached her release, and was vindicated in his guess by Tuor murmuring, “And you? No, I know. You shall not be neglected, my love.”

But he was shocked when hands undid his bonds, and by Tuor saying softly, “Well, my lord, do you wish to serve our princess?”

Maeglin was clever, and Maeglin was knowledgeable, but still it took him a moment to understand.

As soon as he did, he sank to his knees. “Lady,” he whispered, and Idril ordered him quiet. A hand on the back of his head – Tuor’s again, he noted with disgust – guided him forward until his nose brushed damp curls. He took a breath, giddy at the scent of her, at the press of her thighs against his ears.

Maeglin was talented, and Maeglin was good with his hands, but Maeglin was inexperienced in this particular skill. But _love_ , he thought, what better guide than love? Without hesitation he leaned forward, her heat engulfing him, her wetness slick on his tongue. It scarcely mattered that his eyes were still covered; the sound of her stifled moans and the clench of her muscles beneath his hands were enough to make him insensate with desire.

The taste of her was enough to end him.

She pushed at his hands until he took them from her thighs, but her fingers dug into his hair, urging his tongue deeper. Wetness was trickling out of her, a thick, salty fluid that could only be Tuor’s seed. Eager to show his devotion, to prove how willing he was to debase himself for her, Maeglin lapped it up and delved deeper still. Idril was making noises above him, faint moans and cries, but they were stifled as if her own mouth were covered. Maeglin realized with a hot flash of rage that Tuor must be kissing her, plundering the lips that were beyond his own reach, and he devoted himself to her pleasure with a ferocity that was as much vengeance as love. When she shook beneath his mouth he kept his tongue pressed against her, one finger crooked just so, until she trembled again and cried out still louder. Her fingers dug so hard into his hair that strands came out at the roots, and his heart sang with delight at the pain. _He pleased her, he pleased her, this was –_

“Beautiful,” murmured Tuor, his voice full of awe, and Maeglin, shaking and still on his knees, knew this was so.

Then Idril released him, shifting back and Maeglin was bereft once more, his lips wet and his breathing labored. His erection poked him in the stomach as he slumped forward and he waited, without much hope, for what he would be allowed next.

To his shock, it was the removal of his blindfold.

But when he blinked, his eye adjusting to the light as the room came back into focus, the golden hair falling across his field of vision and the blue eyes regarding him were not Idril’s.

Tuor stroked Maeglin’s fringe out of his eyes and murmured, “I can help you with that, if you wish.” He was indicating Maeglin’s groin, and Maeglin immediately ignored him.

“Where is – ”

“Behind you,” came Idril’s voice, but when Maeglin made to turn, Tuor’s strong hand stopped him from looking around. “And out of sight. Where I shall remain, if you wish to stay and reach your completion.”

“But,” Maeglin started to say, turning once more, but Tuor stopped him.

“She is serious,” he said, his thumb gentle on the side of Maeglin’s neck. “Do not turn, or you will have to leave. Look at me instead.”

“I do not wish to look at you,” said Maeglin stiffly. “You are ugly and crude and _male_.”

To his surprise, Tuor laughed. “And you are fair and angry and in need,” he said, touching Maeglin’s lips.

“His weakness,” said Idril, and she sounded amused and fond.

“I do not wish you to touch me,” snapped Maeglin, and Tuor released him at once.

“Do you wish to take your pleasure?” asked Idril, her voice very cool.

“With you,” whispered Maeglin, closing his eyes and leaning back towards her warmth. “Please, my lady, beloved cousin, I ask only – ”

“You do not get me,” said Idril, the familiar words, the words he had burned into his very soul. But this time, she kept speaking beyond them. “However, I can instruct you…”

Maeglin’s eyes snapped open.

“…on how to take my husband.”

Maeglin was thoughtful, and Maeglin was clever, and Maeglin found this a very interesting proposition indeed.

 

* * *

 

He had always thought that he could find a way to properly humiliate the Man, if he planned well. This particular act had never occurred to him, except in certain perverse dreams, but now it seemed obvious enough.

“Are you humiliated, Adan?” Maeglin whispered, working himself between the Man’s furred thighs. “To be taken like this?”

“Nay,” said Tuor, the picture of baffled good spirits even with his knees around his ears and sweat rolling down his chest. “Nay, it feels well, Maeglin, you are very good…”

Maeglin hissed.

Tuor ran his hands along Maeglin’s collarbones and there was curiosity in his voice. “There is naught humiliating about me being beneath you. Where did you get that notion?”

Maeglin didn’t answer.

 

* * *

 

Tuor’s chest beneath its thick thatch of hair was blotchy and sweaty. Maeglin suppressed a satisfied smile; how humiliated must the man be to blush so, how weak he was to show his discomfort so transparently. Maeglin wished to expose him further, to lay bare his weakness and his wantonness before Idril’s discerning eyes.

He gripped the Man’s thick, unlovely shaft and gave it a tug, adding a stroke he knew he himself liked. Tuor let out a hoarse moan. The scientist in Maeglin noted that certain things – such as the movement of the foreskin over the head of a cock – must affect Men and Elves similarly. The bitter rival in him noted with satisfaction that Tuor did not look at all fair while grunting and sprawled on his back.  
   
Idril, he thought, must agree with him, for she had not spoken for several minutes. He could tell from her shadow that she was fiddling with something, perhaps trying to distract herself from the unprepossessing sight of her husband. 

Idril, _Idril_. He filled his mind with her, her taste on his tongue, the elegant lines of her shadow, the memory of her thighs on his shoulders. _I have pleased her, I have pleased her, how better could I please her given the chance..._ With his eyes narrowed, he looked down at the body beneath him, at the golden hair spilling over tanned shoulders as he rutted into a tight, blinding heat.

The effect was spoiled by the deep groans – of pain and humiliation, no doubt – that Tuor could not seem to be restraining, and Maeglin’s eyes snapped wide. He fisted a hand in Tuor’s bright hair, which was straw-like and pedestrian compared to his wife’s. It had been an affront to her to even compare the two. Maeglin pulled it savagely, his pleasure soaring higher at the thought of Tuor so maligned beneath him, and Tuor gave a rasping cry.

Good, Maeglin thought, the blood roaring in his ears. Good, he suffers.

He had never been harder in his life.

His love was at his back, instructing him – how natural she was at this, of course she would be gifted at bringing him pleasure – and his rival beneath him, defeated and humiliated. Maeglin was strong, and Maeglin was triumphant, and Maeglin was filled with joy. He bent his head to lick at the foul pelt across Tuor’s chest. He would stop at nothing to demonstrate the depth of his devotion to Idril. No act too shameful, no penance too foul.

Tour’s fingers dug into his back and Maeglin turned his head into the Man’s throat, sucking at the skin to leave a mark – something for both of them to remember him by.

“Put a hand beneath his hips,” said Idril, commanding and pure. “Tilt his arse so that you slide deeper into him. Do not neglect his cock.”

Maeglin thrust hard, and felt something strike him across the shoulders. He moaned, his head falling back.

“Gentler,” ordered Idril, the switch she had used resting against his neck. It stirred memories in him, and his heart pounded in his ears like a hammer-fall. “If you mar my husband, I shall take my revenge on your flesh.”

Maeglin wondered if this was a dare.

When Idril struck him again, it was close to over for him. The pleasure rang so acute in his loins that when he fell forward, gasping against Tuor’s breast, he didn’t even object to the way the Man held him, stroked his neck, and murmured tender things in his ears.

“If you are going to finish,” said Idril, her switch striking his low back so that Maeglin keened and Tuor pressed a kiss to his brow, “pull out. I do not wish you to spend in my husband’s body.”

Tuor made a noise at this, but the last thrust Maeglin gave made Tuor convulse around him, his hands grabbing for Maeglin’s shoulders.

Maeglin managed to pull out before his orgasm struck, and as Idril made an approving sound behind him, he came.

Idril had always returned the jewelry he gave her unopened, but Tuor wore his pearl necklace very well.

 

* * *

 

“Now,” said Idril, before he had stopped shaking, “you still owe my husband his release.”

Too dazed to protest – though he still flinched each time she spoke the word _husband_ – Maeglin crouched before Tuor to take his manhood in his mouth.

He closed his eyes as Tuor carded his fingers – not so unlovely as all that, his pleasure-dulled brain conceded – through his hair. Maeglin bent his head in devotion, Idril’s crop heavy on his neck, her taste thick on the Man’s cock.

Maeglin had been foolish, and Maeglin had been unprepared, and Maeglin knew it was as close as he had ever been, or would ever be, to paradise.  

He knew he would die for this love.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This was almost certainly Idril’s birthday gift to Tuor – she finds it hopeless but endearing that he has such a heart-boner for lost, emo creatures like Maeglin. (If she'd had to choose a third herself, her pick might have been more along the lines of an Ecthelion, but a girl can't have everything.)


End file.
